Blinded by the Light EditedRepost
by PseudonymsR4Squares
Summary: Harry looses his sight in a particularly heart-wrenching way, and with the loss of something so pivotal, he is able to gain a deeper understanding of how the wizarding world really works. He also "sees" Dumbledore for who he really is. Eventual slash.
1. Prologue

_A/N: This is the first installment/prologue of this series that I have rewritten. Hopefully, time permitting, more will be available soon. I received a lot of reviews that contained comments that concerned me, and seeing as I wrote this something like 3 years ago, I feel the need to rewrite it and hopefully clarify some of the previous issues. _

_I originally wrote this story because I was tired of magical creature fics in which Harry is paired with whichever character and he has a certain time to "be with" them or he will go crazy or die. These plot lines have always seemed lazy to me, so none of that stuff will be in this fic. Also, this is a story that will (eventually) contain slash, so if that isn't something you are interested in, please hit the back button._

_Sorry for the rant_

_A beta would still be greatly appreciated._

Blinded by the Light

Prologue

As the darkness crept in on all sides of his ever-decreasing vision, he knew he would never be able to win this war. More importantly, he wondered what his fellow wizards and witches would want with a false hero that can't even see his opponent. What had they ever wanted from him to begin with? Oh, that's right…salvation.

He realized his staying at the Dursley's had never had anything to do with his safety, but it had everything to do with power. If there was one thing he had always known, it was that he would not be safe with those creatures. He refused to call them people or family, because they had never resembled the definition of either of those words, at least not in regards to him.

Muggles feared that which they did not know, but his fat fetid uncle feared anything that threatened his view of "normal". To him one must be a middle class, white, male married to a woman younger than he by one to five years. The wife simply **must **stay at home and raise any horrible children the union managed to produce. The children must be of average intelligence receiving B to D marks, and other than that little was required of them.

If there was one other thing he was sure of, it was that he was anything but normal.

For the first eleven years of his life, he mourned over his abnormality, his _freakishness_.

Now however, he embraced it. It was his power, his very strangeness, which had kept him alive and fighting for something other than his own life.

But with this betrayal, he knew, there was no way he could keep fighting for the lives of the innocent. It was time to grow up.

After all, if he could no longer see the light, why should anyone else? If he had something stolen from him by someone he had been told to trust, then why couldn't he do a little stealing back? The blindness may be inching forwards, but that didn't mean he had to be blind to the clawing hands navigating his fate, as well as the fate of the wizarding world.

This was going to be the beginning of a brand new Harry Potter. This was going to be the beginning of a brand new hero. This was going to be the beginning…of a brand new world.


	2. Happy Family

_A/N: The second re-vamped chapter of this story. I hope you all enjoy this, and I am still overjoyed by how well this story was received when it first began. Thank you to all my reviewers, especially those who offered me support and constructive criticism._

He had spent his summer much the same as all his others. His trunk was taken and locked away, and once he was defenseless and his "freaky devices" could not help him – he was locked away too. He was allowed to keep his wand simply because his relatives feared what would happen if they tried to touch it.

They knew he would not be able to use it, and so did he. It was irrational, but he still feared his family. He knew what it was like to starve, to be beaten for the smallest of existing infractions, and even those that did not exist. He knew that a life full of boredom locked in a room was far better than a life spent having the principals of "normalcy" beat into him day after day.

His favorite moments were spent gazing out of the window, now unblocked by brick ("What would the neighbor's think Vernon!"), staring at the rising and falling sun. The rays spoke to him in a way nothing and no one else could. They spoke to him of hope, happiness, and a life worth living. Things he had only dreamed about since coming to the wizarding world. The sun also helped to count the days that had passed Harry in his hell and how many were still to come.

_*Blinded by the Light* Blinded by the Light* Blinded by the Light* Blinded by the Light*_

The darkness littering my thoughts, as it has more and more often since Sirius died for me, is suddenly lifted as Aunt Petunia screams my name in the shrillest voice known to man. In fact, I think her screech could be considered a form of echo location - her target, of course, was me. That voice means business and that voice means pain. If petunias are supposed to be such open and beautiful flowers, I am sure I will never understand the logic behind my aunt's name.

"HARRY! Get down here and make my poor Diddikins his breakfast!" she shrieked. I'm sure "Diddikins" was wasting his fat arse away sitting at the table playing with some video game I would never be allowed to see, let alone touch.

I just have the worst luck.

As lethargic as I was, sleepy is just not enough to describe such a feeling, I stumbled out of bed and stayed in "my room" long enough to put on some trousers and a jumper. It was oddly nippy out for August.

My aunt and uncle were smart enough to leave the door unlocked. It seems that the Order has managed to strike a bit of fear into their hearts. They would never be able to plow respect into their brains, but I suppose fear is better than nothing. My lack of intense beating this summer has proved that much at least.

Yawning widely I stepped into the whiter than winter kitchen. Aunt Petunia must have cleaned again. Surprise, surprise.

"Boy, my precious Diddykins wants some Bacon," Petunia baked roughly, "make yourself useful and make him some."

I set about it knowing any words about Dudley's own uselessness would only serve to make my situation worse. It was best to just go with the flow. After all, I'm tired of fighting and I can't bring myself to give up anything else I love. I may fight like hell when I'm at school and my life is on the line, but in this prison the only good fighting does is to insight fury and create even more issues.

"You are burning the Bacon! Idiot, you useless freak! After all the things we do for you and you can't even manage to make bacon?" Petunia shrieked.

In her anger, all I could see was the pale white of her face. The exact opposite of Uncle Vernon, her face mesmerized me. I had managed to save the bacon moments before her fit, dumping the strips onto a plate. The grease, however, was still popping in the skillet.

I realized too late what was happening, so preoccupied by watching Aunt's nostrils flare, imagining her to be a rather malnourished horse. Her hand gripped my arm and I knew. Mere milliseconds later, still in shock, my arm was plunged into the grease.

I screamed. The pain was fierce, though it was no Cruciatius curse, but the shock of what had happened caused me to let out a sound I would never deign to give my magical attackers.

The only thing scarier than the abuse I had just suffered was the manic look in my Aunt's eyes. They flitted frantically around the room, anxiously searching for some sign that she would be magically punished. There was none. There would never be one. The deranged look in her eyes magnified.

I had been running, hiding, and fighting all my life. I knew the look of someone who had lost sanity. I just never thought it would grace the eyes of my "normal" family. Petunia was no longer a mother, an aunt, a muggle; she was someone who had lived in fear for 16 years. She was someone who was out for revenge, and she was most definitely angry.

I saw the pan I had used to fry my cousins breakfast and then…the sun. The pink rays of early morning had faded to reveal blood red stains running across the sky. If those rays would be the last thing I would ever see, I could die happy.

Unfortunately, my death was not in my Aunt's plan. There was something far, far worse.


	3. In the Dark

AN: Could you guys try to be more…descriptive in your reviews? "ow, god, what the hell?" That one in particular confused me. Is that good or bad? At any rate, here's the new chapter, which has been massively improved from its original posting. I hope you all like it.

_Warning: Abuse and violence ahead. If you can't handle this, please don't read it._

Disclaimer: I think I forgot this last time, but it should be fairly obvious that I am not J.K. Rowling, nor do I gain any profit from fanfiction. That would be absurd.

Last time

_I saw the pan I had used to fry my cousins breakfast and then…the sun. The pink rays of early morning had faded to reveal blood red stains running across the sky. If those rays would be the last thing I would ever see, I could die happy._

_Unfortunately, my death was not in my Aunt's plan. There was something far, far worse._

Now:

_Dudley's POV_

I love Bacon. Mum is making Harry get me some Bacon, and I can't wait! He always makes it better than she does; taking care to make sure all the grease is removed from the strips. Perfectly cooked every time.

He's not so bad, I guess. I don't like having a pig's tail, but I don't think all magic does is hurt people. I saw Harry's face when Hagrid took him away from our house. The way his eyes lit up like mine do on Christmas day. I didn't understand it then but now I do. He was happy to get away from us. He was happy to get away from our house and from the crap he had to deal with here. When he found out magic was real he had a prime opportunity to make our lives a living hell, just like we had done to him for his whole life. He didn't, and I still wonder why not.

I'm an arse, I know I am, but how can I be anything else considering how my parents raised me. That's not exactly the best excuse since they raised Harry, but the way they raised us was so different that it really isn't a wonder that I turned out this way. Harry is under me, he's not normal. The only thing I don't understand is why, if he can do such amazing things, he is considered under me. If he can drop me to the ground from 500 feet away, then how am I supposed to act like I'm stronger than him, let alone better? Mum and Dad have drilled into my head Harry's freakishness but I wonder…what if magic is just nature's way of natural selection?

There aren't as many wizards as normal folk (that I know of) but they've managed to stay hidden for hundreds of years. They've created their own government and economy, and from the little Harry has mentioned, it seems like the wizarding world is doing fabulously on its own – apart from the whole Dark Lord thing. Hell, if us normal folks had to deal with a dark lord, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't do so well. Every catastrophe in the news is clearly the fault of the dark lord, no matter how much my parents deny his existence and insist that he died when Harry was a baby.

Mum is yelling again. I don't understand why she uses that sugary voice with me, but as soon as she gets to Harry, her eyes turn cold. Her sweet indulgences turn into bitter orders forced through clenched teeth. As far as I can tell, Harry never does anything to insight her ire. In general, Harry is a really quite guy who is just trying to get by. He does whatever we tell him to without complaining, and even though it was wrong, he lived in the cupboard under the stairs for 11 years because mum and dad told him to. He could complain about that, but he never does. He has a right to complain about a lot of the stuff that goes on here, but he never does. I don't think he ever will either.

As much as mum and dad try to pretend it isn't true, Harry is a part of our family. He has been since he was born, but he's been living with us since he was 1, so you would think they would care at least a little about him after all that time. How can she treat him, part of our **family**, like a slave? If I had been born with magic, would this have been my fate? Would I have been forced to cook and clean, to live in a cupboard and be called a freak? Would I never experience the love of my mum and dad?

I can only watch on in horror and disgust as she burns plunges his arm into the fiery hot grease used to make my delicious bacon. Has she goes entirely mad? Her eyes fly around the kitchen but I don't know what she's looking for. However, when she focuses on Harry again it is clear she didn't find whatever she had searched for with fearful eyes. A crazed gleam enters those too-big doe eyes and I begin to feel real fear. She's scaring me. For the first time in all my spoiled sixteen years my mum is not my mum - she's a monster.

I may not particularly like my cousin, but that doesn't mean it's alright for him to be abused. This goes way beyond a little starvation and some mean words, this goes beyond anything I would have ever expected. I have to help him, I'm the only one he's got on his side. If I don't…who knows what will be next. I have to find those frea-erm…people that watch him. They've got to be around here somewhere.

As I get up from the table silently, I can't help but feel as if I'm already too late. If she was willing to go so far in front of me, then she'll be willing to go a lot farther with me gone. By the time I get back into this house with help, my mum will have done something unforgivable. She's already hurt him, but I refuse to let my mum become a murderer if I can help it. She may be spiteful, cruel, and crazy, but she's still my mum. She always was, and she always will be. Just like Harry is my cousin, my family, and I'm not willing to let that go like everybody else. I'm not willing to let him die for something he can't control. I'm not willing to let him die because of something his parents did.

I can't just turn my back on my family, but that means I can't turn my back on Harry either. I have to be a human for once and step up. My mum has treated my like I'm perfect my whole life, my dad treats me the same, but the only person who has every treated me like a normal person was Harry. No matter what I did to him, he never really struck back. He never acted like I was a monster. If I don't find help for him, then he'll never be able to treat me like I'm normal ever again. I will be a monster. Without him, I would have been one a long time ago.

_Harry's POV_

Dudley has left. He has left me alone with Petunia and her insanity. I have little doubt that the escalation of the abuse seems like nothing to him. What's a little burn on the arm for a freak? What's a little pain for a boy who experiences pain every day? What's a little pain for someone who hurts so much all the time?

I wonder if my cousin has gone to watch the telly as he often does. I had only been out for a few minutes, but when I came to Dudley had left the table (odd since he had not eaten yet) and Petunia had tied my hands together with bunches of kitchen twine. It cut into my hands and created harsh red lines along my wrists. I tried to pull my wrists apart, but Petunia was very efficient. I couldn't even get them to budge a millimeter, let alone the amount I would need to break free.

It's sort of funny that my life as "The Boy Who Lived" may come to end here, in the only place I'm supposed to be safe besides Hogwarts. Though, looking at my safety record at Hogwarts, it's no wonder that my "home" is little safer than the school. The papers are going to have a great time with this, I can see it now, "The Boy Who Lived Killed by Crazy Aunt as Fat Uncle Sits Behind A Desk". Great, just bloody great. Really splendid.

I wonder if anyone is really expecting me to fight this. The Harry Potter everyone knows and loves would get to his feet despite all the odds and fight with everything he had. Are people waiting for that Harry to show up? Well, it's not going to happen. The Harry Potter who fought with everything died with Sirius Black. Losing the only battle that I ever felt like I had to win, it killed a part of me. Sirius loved me and I let him fall through that veil, and now no one knows where he ended up, but we all know he ended up dead. Dead. Just like I'm going to be when Petunia gets done with me. Together again, dogfather and son.

Petunia seems to have gotten some guts or maybe she's just snapped. Years of pent up fear and bitterness will do that to a person. She's holding a recently sharpened steak knife in one hand, the other balled up tightly against her pathetically thin chest. She's trembling with rage, her eyes glazed, and then…she charges.

I am suddenly reminded of Greek myths and virgin sacrifices. Petunia is the vengeful monster to my shaking Andromeda (1).

Petunia slammed into my stomach with the knife, and I felt a burning pain and felt the gash rip open. As the knife was used in the kitchen, it wasn't the sharpest, and the dullness of the blade made the wound more ragged and painful. It was agony. Pure agony. The Cruciatus Curse is supposed to be the most painful of any spell, but having experienced it, I can tell you that it doesn't compare to this. The blade didn't cut through my skin like butter, which is how I've always heard stabbing described. It was more like I was a piece of tough meat the force behind the knife along with the sawing motion caused my skin to part. It hurt more than anything I had ever felt. The physical pain was only increased by the hurt I've been carrying with me since the hell of that night at the Ministry.

Before I was aware of what was happening Aunt Petunia yanked the knife out and drew it sharply across both of my eyes. My world instantly darkened and I could feel the blood dripping down my face. God, it hurt. It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt. There's a horrible screaming cry that's filtering through my dark, pain filled mind.

'Screaming? Who's screaming?' I wonder hazily. It hurt to think.

Suddenly I realize that it's me. That horrible cry, the sobbing, it's coming from me. Some many awful things have happened to me, but I never let anyone hear me scream. I can't seem to stop now. I sob and cry, and the scream becomes a wail of agony.

She drew the knife across my eyes again, crisscrossing the other line to form a narrow X with the middle right across my nose. All I can see is black. I've never seen a blind person before, but I get the feeling that magic won't be able to fix this. Moody's glass eye flashes in my mind and I'm sure that magic can't fix this. I can't see the red of my own blood dripping down my face. I can't see the gash on my stomach seeping crimson all over the pure white floor of the kitchen. I couldn't see the scarlet lines racing across the sky. My sight, which I had never really appreciated before, was gone. This was completely unlike the blurriness that I got without my glasses, this was pure blackness. My world was black forever.

"Mrs. Dursley what have you done!" a voice shouted aghast.

I know the voice but I can't seem to put a face it. The darkness in my mind is growing blacker by the second. My mind can no longer process the spells being shouted at my aunt, the sounds of Dudley's shocked gasp at my ghastly appearance. I recognize the pull of sleep at my consciousness and then…no pain. There is only light and the voice of my gentle mother coaxing me into unhindered bliss.

"Shhh Harry dear, everything will be all right. Go to sleep now." she whispered

I allowed myself to be lulled by that feeling and that voice but I didn't believe the softly spoken lie. My mother was dead. My father was dead. Sirius was dead. Nothing was ever going to be the same again, but isn't that such a pretty though. Everything will be all right Harry. What a pretty little lie.

After all, my mind sneered, what does the light side need with a blind hero? More trouble than he's worth…

_End Chapter_

(1): Andromeda was a Greek mythological woman who was chained to a rock to be a sacrifice to a sea monster as divine punishment for her mother's bragging. (Directly from Wikipedia)


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